Would you like to have a cupcake?
by PoisonedCupcakes
Summary: Oliver, Arthurs 2p, died. Artie just can't get used to it and calls back the spirit of his brother. How will the other nations react if they find out? Will they accept Oliver, living in Arthurs body? M just to be safe. Horror because of later chapters. Blood, character death, slight language. In later chapters detailed torture and insanity.


**Here is the last fiction I wrote. I hope, it is alright. The rituals are some I found in books about spells and I picked the best ones. The ghost oil is after a 'real' receipt. Appearently, it has been made by witches and some magicans in the beginning of the new age. But it's not very well known. And credits to Flogging Molly for the song 'Oliver Boy'. You should hear it. It's pretty good. **

**I do not own Hetalia or anything else, and I never will (If my plan to take over the world won't work, of course). **

**Warning: In later chapters there will be detailed torture. In this one is some blood, character death and slight language. You have been warned.**

* * *

He was gone.

How do you feel when your brother is dead? Sad? Lonely? Arthur felt nothing of the feelings he thought he was supposed to feel right now. The british just stood at the edge of the fresh grave. Looking down at the flowers and the banner. _As a last greeting for a wonderful man. _It was an impersonal sentence. Oliver, his brother and second player, hadn't been a_ wonderful man_. He had been strange. But every 'other nation' was strange and weird. However, there had been some situations when the people thought of Arthur as the 2p. Maybe it was because of Oliver's optimistic and energetic nature and that he had been so sentimental, that he bursted in tears if someone had been harsh or mad at him. How he wanted everyone to smile. The other other players were different. Usually more serious and mature. More like Arthur himself.

With a heavy sigh he gazed up. Of course, he still had Alfred, Kiku and even Francis to count on. Although he'd never admit the latter. And all of the other countries, too. But none would ever understand him like the sibling he had lost. He watched the countries and their own brothers or sisters, which had come to bury his.

There was Francis, who talked to Antonio and Gilbert. The Bad Touch Trio stood at the other side of the grave. Francis' brother, Jacques Bonnefoy, tried to smoke a cigarette, not noticing that it went out because of the mild rain. Oliver and he had been enemys just like Arthur and Francis, but they had at least helped each other in battles. Sometimes. Most of the time it was rainy in England, but now Arthur wished, that it would be sunny. Like Oliver's usual mood. Samuel James Williams talked to an empty chair, so Matthew was there, too. Arthur normally felt guilty because of his inability to see the Canadian nation. But not now. He just felt numb. Feliciano and Lovino talked with a forced smile to their brothers, Luciano and Flavio. They were scared, even if there wasn't a reason. They weren't violent, at least most of the time. Maybe it was that the second players had the same face. The eye- or haircolour may changed, but the face was still the same.

A quiet laugh reached his ears. He found the causer quickly. Ivan and Nikolai sat together, chatting. While most of the 1p's were scared or felt uncomfortable near the mostly red or purple eyed personifications, the russian was one of the countries, who liked it to be with his 2p. Maybe it was because he only had sisters, that he liked the other male. Nikolai shot a glance in Arthurs direction and smiled. He shivered. Normally Nikolai was serious and, unlike Ivans, his smiles were very rare. That he loved it to play his 'games', wasn't a thing to make the british man feeling more comfortable, too.

Sighing again, he looked down on the grave once more. He didn't wanted to think about Russia. His thoughts turned into another direction again. He thought about the special afternoon. The afternoon, which had caused it, that he had to stand there in his best suit in the rain.

* * *

He had been sitting in the garden, reading a newspaper and enjoying a cup of tea like usual. The day had been sunny and the sunlight made it's way through the branches of an small apple tree, drawing shadows on the earth and his face. This was, when he had heard the explosion. Immediately, he had jumped up to his feet and ran to his house. Thick black fume had come through the cellar window and -door, where Oliver had his laboratory. Arthur had teared the door open and coughed. The smoke had made breathing nearly impossible. A gap in his memory. The next thing he could remember was, that the fume had almost gone and he had stepped into the room.

At first the smell of blood was everything he could have perceive. Then the image of the small room, covered in red liquid. Next to his right food had been laying a part of an arm. At the other end of the room a destroyed leg and in the corner something that seemed like a head. Some parts of bones had stuck in a wooden wall. Bones and a few teeth. Internal organs, lying on the floor or splattered across the whole room, came to his mind. He had went over to the corner, where the head had been lying. If he hadn't known, that his brother had been in the cellar, he wouldn't have been able to tell who it had been. The head was so damaged, that it not even seemed human anymore.

Ignoring the squelch sounds his boots had made, he turned around and left the room. He would never go into it again. He knew it.

* * *

Barely could he remember his way home. After the ceremony some people had offered him to go with him. Like they thought that he would collapse. Every time he had said the same thing. That he was fine. That he just wanted to be alone for a little while. Yes, he would call, if he needed someone or something. All the empty words the people wanted to hear, so they had a reason not to worry much.

At home, he was drinking. Shot glances at the mirror across the room. He watched him drink his pain away a little at the time. But Arthur knew, that he never could get drunk enough to get Oliver off his mind. He didn't saw the living room or the mirror. All he could see was the image of his brothers head, destroyed and bloodied. The bones under charred skin. All he could smell was the scent of blood. He heared the explosion again and again. If there only was a change to see him again. The coffin had been closed. Of course. All he wanted was to see his brother one more time. But he was dead. Dead. Cold and gone. A thought began to build in his mind. If he had been sober, he would never even considered to think about it.

He stumbled up und began to sway over to his large bookshelf. His eyes wandered around. At one book he stopped and locked his eyes at the image. Trying to stand still, he tried to focus on it, when he pulled it out. It was an grimoire. His grimoire. A heavy, letherbound book with tarnished metal edges. In this book he had written every rite or spell, he had ever discovered or invented. With numb and shaking fingers he turned the pages till he found the page, he had been searching for. With an unsteady glance the british looked down at the thick, heavy and dusty paper. It was a spell for calling spirits back. Since he had nothing to do with Voodoo or Hoodoo he didn't knew anything about reviving a body, or more simple, the making of a zombie. But he didn't wanted an brainless body, a slave, he wanted his brother.

He had always some 'Ghost oil' to anoint candles, so this wasn't a problem. It was made out of iris root, Solomon's seal, rosemary, some sandalwood-, mint- and safflower oil. These oil had to stand in a cool, dark place for minimum three weeks. The older it was, the better it would work. His was over 50 years old. Arthur took a wire gauze and strained it through. This probably would do it. It was less, than he expected, but on the other hand he didn't needed much of it. The time was perfect, too. Samhain was about to come, so the curtain between the world of the living and the world of the dead was very thin.

* * *

He giggeled a bit and began to sing while he went around and got the stuff he needed.

_'Oh! Oliver boy, what did you do?_

_But crush the hand you never shook_

_Then rob the rights of people to be free.'_

Finally, he had found his wand. It was sacred to Hera, 53 cm long and made out of willow. This was the wand for ghost summonings.

_'Oh! Oliver Boy it's a terrible state_

_You left behind the worst off race_

_Where dignity and pride fought for their place.'_

Arthur took some candles with him. Black and orange ones. He chuckeled darkly when he put on his black robe.

_'Oh! Oliver Boy now you are gone_

_And we're still here where we belong_

_Forgiveness being our strength you'll never see...'_

He grabbed an obsidian knife and a piece of paper. It was a exact square and had words on it, which filled the whole area. Eight words, one below the other. Four words, first forward than backwards. Every letter was a capital letter. Leviatan; Ermogasa; Vmirteat;Iorantga.

Arthur began to make his 'circle'. Well, it was more a triangle than a circle, because ghosts and spirits were more attracted by a triangle, but it was still called a magic circle. He arranged his candles around the area and lighted them with some words. To set something on fire was so easy that it wouldn't even affect his magical powers. Then he grabbed a brass bowl and placed it on the ground. The square of paper was inside it. With one hand, Arthur began to roll up the sleeve of his left arm and, with the knife on his right side, he kneeled down. He didn't felt the pain, when he cutted a complicated ornament in his flesh. His blood dropped over the piece of paper while the brit recited the spell.

Suddenly the paper catched fire and a high flame hit Arthur's arm. This was his price. Everytime he would use this kind of magic, he had to pay the price. 'Oliver Kirkland. Oliver Kirkland. Oliver Kirkland.', he heared himself.

Nothing happened.

'Oliver Kirkland.'

Still nothing.

'OLIVER BLOODY KIRKLAND! MOVE YOUR DAMN ASS AND COME BACK TO ME!' Nothing. He wanted to pull his arm back, out of the flame, when he heard something. A whisper. 'It is a long way, brother, have a bit patience. No need to yell at me. And you know how I hate swearing.' It had worked. Had really worked. He let out a sigh of relief. It was his brother. 'Oliver.', he whispered. 'The one and only.' The voice of the figure, which slowly built in the fire, became louder.

Finally, he stood in front of him. It was his brother, but he had changed. His orange-pinkish hair had turned into a darker shade. It was more red than before. He was paler. But the biggest change was his eyecolour. Before, it had been a confusing but calming type of green and blue. Now it just seemed … crazy. It had turned into a light shade of green, blue and purple or pink. Nothing of the colour was calming anymore.

'Ollie, your eyes. They're …', Arthur stuttered. 'Yes, I know.' Oliver interrupted him. 'The colour changed. But what did you thought will happen now? I'm a ghost, a spirit. If I would stay here, I would turn into something evil. You should know that as the country with the strongest magical powers. Since I accidentally killed myself, my rage wouldn't turn against the one who killed me. Did you forgot, what will happend t ghosts, if they don't have a body? I will become a monster, which eats the souls of the people, which were the dearest and, after that, the ones with high spiritual powers.' 'I know.' 'So, what did you thought, when you summoned me? I won't possess anyone!' 'But I have a body for you.' 'What? Wait, did you heared me? I'm not going to possess a stranger.' 'That's the point. It's not a stranger. It's me.'

Oliver stayed silent after this statement.

'You see, better than nothing. I would never let you possess a stranger. I would take control in meetings and things like that and you could take the control in other cases.' 'Like baking?', responded Oliver with a sarcastical grin. 'Shut up. Booth my cooking and baking is delicious.' 'No swearing! I wonder how often I have to say it, until you learn it. But even if I would attach my soul to your body, it won't stop the hollowfication.' Oliver sighed. 'Would you please stop to use fictional words? Well, it would stop. My magical powers are very strong. They will stop it.'

'You won't let me go, will you?', the second player asked after a short break. 'Never. And you won't be able to go until I let you go. I put that in the spell.', Arthur replied. It was a good thing, that he had remembered it. Oliver sighed again. 'Well, I have no other choice then, I suppose.'

* * *

**Thank you for reading. I hope, you enjoyed this chapter. I'll update as soon as possible. May I ask you to leave a comment? And no, Vodoo and Hodoo are not the same. Go, look it up, if you are curious. It's very interesting. **

**Credits to you, if you found the hidden song line. Here, have a cookie, my friend~ **


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